


Recruitment Strategies

by morganoconner



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 16:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganoconner/pseuds/morganoconner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinkski bumps into Clint Barton outside a bar in New York City. It's not the first time they've met. Stiles is starting to get suspicious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recruitment Strategies

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to wolfling for looking this over for me. ♥
> 
> Please note, this has absolutely nothing to do with my other Avengers/ Teen Wolf crossover. Really. _Nothing_.

"Why did we ever move to New York?" Stiles mutters into his phone. He sighs as he stares at the crumbled remains of his favorite bar.

"Because Cora wanted to go to Columbia for graduate school, and because you have a geeky obsession with superheroes," Derek replies without missing a beat. In the background, Stiles can just hear the faint, steady scratching of a pencil, which means Derek is still working, probably hasn't stopped to so much as eat dinner yet.

"Had," Stiles says. "I _had_ a geeky obsession. Then I moved to a city where there are too many of them and they keep destroying all my favorite things."

As if in response, the last bit of the far wall that was still intact topples over into a sad heap of brick and dust.

"To be fair, I think most of the time it's really the bad guys doing the destroying."

It takes a second for Stiles to realize that the voice speaking isn't Derek's – is in fact coming from behind him and not through the phone at all – and he spins around so fast he almost loses his balance entirely.

A hand on his shoulder steadies him, but Stiles is too busy staring at the dude in front of him to offer much of a thank you. "I'm gonna have to call you back, D," he says, and thumbs his phone off over the sound of Derek's protest.

Whatever. Derek knows Stiles would never hang up on him if he was in actual trouble. Or he should. Okay, he _would_ know, if he wasn't totally paranoid.

Anyway.

"Why do we keep meeting like this?" Stiles demands. "I'm not actually a moron. Once is an accident. Twice is a coincidence. Three times is definitely a pattern."

The man's lips quirk. "Spoken like the true son of a law enforcement official."

Stiles' hackles go up. "First you blow up my favorite bar – don't give me that look, I saw it on TV, buddy – and now you're gonna play games with me? Really?"

"No games," the guy says, holding his hands up. "Promise. The first time really was an accident, okay?" He gives a sheepish little grin, shrugging his shoulders. "The second might have been a little more than a coincidence. I mean, it's not too often we find out there's a small pack of werewolves in our city, okay? I had to make sure everything was kosher."

Stiles snorts, folding his arms across his chest and giving the man his best unimpressed look. It’s a pretty good look. He's had years of living with the Hales to perfect it.

"Okay, look, clearly we got off on the wrong foot here." The man steps forward, holding a hand out. "My name's Clint Barton."

Christ. "Are you serious right now?" Stiles asks, staring at the proffered hand like it might bite him any second. Then he sighs and gingerly reaches out to accept it. The guy _is_ a bona fide hero, after all, right? One of Stiles favorites once upon a time, even. Hawkeye is the totally human element in a pack of magic and science experiments gone wrong. As a teenager, Stiles sometimes felt like he could relate.

Okay, Stiles still sometimes feels like he can relate. Things have changed, but they haven't changed that much.

"Stiles Stilinski," he offers, albeit grudgingly.

Hawkeye – Barton – grins at him again, bigger this time. "Good to meet you."

Stiles eyes him, then glances at the remains of the building behind him. "Wish I could say the same." Especially since he has suspicions about why an Avenger – one with direct connections to S.H.I.E.L.D., and yeah, you can bet your ass Stiles does his research on shit like this – has apparently been studying up on him.

"You're not letting that go anytime soon, are you?" Barton asks. At Stiles' pointedly raised eyebrow, he laughs. "Okay, I promise Tony's checkbook will have the place up and running again in no time, but in the meantime, I can try to make it up to you?"

Which is how an hour later finds Stiles being led into the fucking _Avengers Tower_ , right up to the private bar near the top floor, where Barton sits him down on a stool and pours him a glass of the best damn beer Stiles has ever tasted in his life.

"This is really surreal," he notes, taking another sip and staring around with wide eyes, trying to take in everything at once.

Barton snorts, plopping down onto the stool next to him with a glass of something dark and amber-y and probably worth more than Stiles makes in a week. "Been there," he says. "First year I lived here, I woke up every day feelin' that way." He shoots Stiles another grin. "But we're not here to talk about me."

"Course not," Stiles sighs. "Nothing's ever that easy." He takes a big gulp from his glass, then faces Barton head-on. "So what are we here to talk about, Mr. Barton?"

Barton winces. "Clint, please. Hawkeye if my first name offends you. Mr. Barton was my dad." Something in his eyes says there's a painful story there, and Stiles knows better than to pry about certain things, so he nods apologetically. "And we're here to talk about you, obviously." He smirks. "Gotta be honest, I suck at this crap, but Phil thought you'd react better to me than to the S.H.I.E.L.D. suits, so here we are.

Undoubtedly, Barton – _Clint_ – means Phil Coulson, the Avengers' handler and S.H.I.E.L.D. liaison. Stiles has seen him on TV, too.

"Look," Stiles sighs. "I get that werewolves are a big deal to you guys, okay? I'm sure Derek saving my ass in the middle of that big firefight in Manhattan got all kinds of rumors circulating around here. But I gotta be honest with you, dude. Derek and Cora are never going to want any part of S.H.I.E.L.D."

Clint tilts his head, regarding Stiles for a long moment. His eyes seem to pierce far deeper than Stiles is comfortable with, and suddenly his codename seems even more apt than Stiles ever gave it credit for. "What makes you think it's your pack we're after?" Clint finally asks.

Stiles blinks. "Well, if it's not them, I mean, my ties to the Beacon Hills wolves aren't really –"

"Stiles." Clint rolls his eyes, leaning back against the bar and letting a slow grin slide over his face. "It's _you_ we want. Phil was able to piece together bits and pieces of your research online and frankly, it's pretty damn awesome. Fury – the director – wants you working with us in a big way while we figure out just how deep all this supernatural crap we never knew about goes."

"Deep," Stiles tells him solemnly, before his brain catches up with the rest of what Clint's saying. "Wait, wait. You want _me_ to work for S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

Clint shrugs. "That's the long and short of it. They need answers, and they need 'em from someone who can handle themselves in a crisis. You fit the bill, kid."

"I don't…" Stiles' brain stutters to a halt, overloaded. "My pack –"

"Breathe," Clint suggests. "No one's asking you to leave your friends. Sorry, your pack. Okay? Fury gets that they're gonna come first. If you want, you can sign on as a consultant, and they'll just bring you in when we have an actual problem on our hands. It's cool, I promise. And no one's saying you have to decide right now, either. You can talk it over with your pack first if you want. Hell, I'd recommend it. All I'm asking you to do is think about it. Okay?"

"I…yeah, okay," Stiles says. His voice comes out sounding strangely weak, and he can't keep up enough to be entirely positive what he's agreeing to.

"But hey, before you make any decisions, can I let you in on something that might be considered a perk?" Clint leans forward now, grinning again, and in spite of himself, Stiles nods eagerly. "You'd be working pretty close with the Avengers as well as S.H.I.E.L.D. And both us and them, we look after our own. Might be nice for your pack to have more people watching their backs, yeah?"

'Nice' is one word for it, Stiles thinks dazedly. 'Amazing' would be another. Also 'miraculous'.

The thing is, it's been just the three of them for so long now, and Stiles loves his ragtag little pack, he _does_ , but it can be hard, especially since Derek and Cora are both betas. They've come out on top every time it's come down to a fight, but there have definitely been too many close shaves. While Scott and the Beacon Hills pack would be more than willing to help, Stiles is sure, they've also been too far away to ask when it would actually come in handy. And, well, there are reasons Stiles left Beacon Hills, so it's not like going back there has ever been much of an option.

"Okay," he says slowly. "That's…something to consider."

They've been doing okay, since hitting the city. But the idea of help when their luck inevitably runs out again is appealing.

"The pay is pretty good too," Clint adds with a wink.

Really appealing.

God, Stiles needs to talk to Derek. "Do you have, like, a card or something?" he asks. "So I can get back to you? Do superheroes _get_ business cards?"

Clint laughs. "Well, maybe not superheroes, but agents do." He passes over a business card that has nothing but a familiar logo and a phone number. "That line'll get you either me or Phil, okay?"

Stiles nods. He glances up, hesitating, and then asks. "What if I say no?"

"Then you say no," Clint replies. "Hope you don't, but you gotta do what you gotta do. No one'll judge you for it around here, and no one'll force you into something you're not comfortable with. Promise."

"Okay," Stiles says again. He releases a slow breath. "Um. I should…how do I get out of here?" Because the tower is huge, and his brain is just not working enough to remember what twists and turns Clint led him through to get to this room.

"C'mon," Clint says, nodding toward the door as he stands. "I'll get you out and get you a ride home."

"That's…not…" _Necessary_ , Stiles was going to say, but his tongue glues itself to the roof of his mouth when someone peeks around the corner and grins at him.

"Hey, a newbie!" Tony Stark – _Tony Freaking Stark_ – says. "Hi newbie!" He comes in the rest of the way, glancing between Clint and Stiles with his hands planted on his hips. "So, hey, guys. There's a really pissed off werewolf growling in the downstairs lobby. I don't suppose he belongs to one of you?" His gaze slides back to Stiles, and his eyebrow goes up. "Hmmmm?"

The only sound Stiles finds himself capable of producing is a truly pathetic little, " _Meep_."


End file.
